A Leap in Time
by bammi1
Summary: Bobby and Alex visit the past to catch a notorious serial killer. Complete fantasy, with a few historical facts thrown in. CONCLUSION
1. Chapter 1

A Leap in Time Chapter 1 

The characters of Robert Goren, Alex Eames, James Deakins, and Mike Logan do not belong to me.

Alexandra Eames shivered as she walked slowly up and down the dark empty street, pausing under one of the gaslit street lamps. _Kind of reminds me of my days back in vice,_ she thought, as she kept her eyes peeled for just the right man. So far she still had no male takers. _Geez, what does it take? _She wondered._ Too much competition. _So she took to a more isolated spot, in an alley.Even with the gaslit lamp, it was still dark, and very still, quite unlike the bustle and nightlife of New York City.

There were a few other differences, too, like for one thing, this was not New York, it was London, England. And it wasn't the year 2005, it was the year 1888. And she wasn't waiting for just any john, she was waiting for a very specific one: a man who went by the name of Jack. Jack the Ripper.

As Alex stood there waiting and shivering, she wondered vaguely if she was shivering because of the dampness and cold or because of her anxiety over this particular stake out. This was different, too. Back home she could stay in contact with her partner with a tiny little microphone or some other electronic gadget. Here, they had nothing. She had to trust her partner blindly, but, if anyone could be trusted, it was Bobby.

Still, it was a scary situation.

Suddenly Alex heard a noise behind her, and turned quickly to see what it was. "A rat!" she breathed, exhaling heavily. She'd never in her life been so glad to see a rat. But she was starting to get a little more nervous, and was beginning to question her decision to use herself as bait to catch this guy; there were so many ways it could go wrong. Bobby had been totally against it, but she'd insisted; she wanted to do _something_ on this case. Still Bobby refused. But now-- another noise! And this time there were no rats.

"Bobby?" she whispered.

But it was not Bobby. Bobby could do nothing to help her; he was having problems of his own. Bobby was locked in a jail cell, his hands cuffed behind his back, bruised and bleeding, the result of several brutal beatings by a sadistic guard. He'd been arrested on trumped up charges of being the Ripper himself, the very man he was trying to protect from hurting others. And now Bobby was under the supervision of that very guard, who was going to make sure that he didn't make it out of that jail alive. But Bobby knew he _had_ to make it out of there. Not only did his own life depend on it, but also the life of his partner.

Somehow Alex and Bobby's great adventure had gone horribly wrong.

New York City, 2005

Detective First Grade Robert (Bobby) Goren was writing quickly on the forms in front of him in an effort to get his paperwork done in a hurry. His partner, Alexandra Eames, had expressed a desire to get out on time tonight, and Bobby was doing his best to accommodate her. Bobby and Alex were the lead detectives on the NYPD's elite Major Case Squad, and both could count on one hand the number of times this month they'd actually gotten out on time, not to mention the many times they'd been called back in. But Alex had special plans for tonight. It was her little nephew's birthday, the child she had been surrogate mother to, and she was determined to be there on time.

"How you coming, Bobby?" she asked, looking over at his stack of papers.

"Last one," he announced.

"Good! Here, take some of mine," and she handed Bobby a few more.

"Alex, I told you, **_you_** can leave. I'll finish these up." Bobby also had plans for the evening, but they weren't till much later when he planned to meet an old flame over drinks.

Alex smiled. She really could not ask for a better partner, she thought fondly. Nor could he. They were born to be partners. So Alex said, "Thanks, Bobby; we'll just finish it together. Besides," she added teasingly, "you'd never let me live it down."

Bobby and Alex weren't the only ones rushing to get out on time; the whole squad seemed to be in a hurry tonight. It was the weekend, and most of the harried detectives, at least the ones who had off, had some kind of plans for the weekend.

In all the rushing around, no one seemed to notice as a little old man seemed to appear out of nowhere. But the old man seemed to notice everyone else, in fact, appeared to be searching for someone. Detective Mike Logan, fairly new to Major Case, wandered by, and the old man stopped him.

"Excuse me, sir, could you direct me to a Detective Robert Goren?"

Logan grinned. He knew Bobby was getting ready to leave. "Sure. Right this way," and he led him right to Bobby's desk.

Bobby looked up slowly, his mind already telling him his plans for the night were shot. He couldn't help but notice the old man's apparel, a curious mixture of futuristic, yet somehow very old fashioned.

"Bobby," Logan said, still grinning, "this gentleman would like a word with you."

Bobby shot Logan an "I'll kill you later look" and rose to address the old man.

"Hi, I'm Detective Robert Goren," he said. "Is there something I can help you with?"

"Thank God!" the old man exclaimed. "I've had one heck of a time finding you!"

Bobby was somewhat surprised. He wasn't all that hard to find, at least not at the Major Case Squad at One Police Plaza.

"Well, looks like you've found me now," Bobby sighed. "And you are…?"

"Jonathan Osmet. _Professor_ Jonathan Osmet."

Both men shook hands. "What can I do for you, Professor?" Bobby asked.

"Detective Goren, I am here to ask for your help. You're the only one who can help me!"

For some reason Bobby took a liking to the older man. "Well, uh, would you like to tell me a little about it?" he said soothingly.

"Oh yes! Thank you! Thank you!" the old man said, pumping Bobby's hand furiously. "You're absolutely the only one who can do this!" he repeated.

Bobby's curiosity was piqued. "Do what?"

Professor Osmet looked at Bobby strangely. "You don't know?" he said, seeing the puzzled look on Bobby's face. Then he answered his own question. "Of course not!"

"Detective Goren, I would like for you to come back with me to London," he said, very formally. "And help me find and stop Jack the Ripper."

TBC

Page5


	2. Chapter 2

A Leap in Time 

Chapter 2

Bobby sighed again. Why were they always attracted to him? Then again, he thought, maybe _he _was the one attracting _them_

Mike Logan licked his lips. "This is too good," he muttered to Alex. "I'll go get Deakins."

But Captain Jimmy Deakins was already there. "In my office," he told the little group.

As they all herded themselves into his office, Deakins took his place behind his desk. Alex and Professor Osmet each took a seat, while Bobby and Logan chose to stand.

"So what's this all about, Professor?" Deakins asked.

"It's very simple, Sir," the professor said patiently. "I've done a lot of research and have come to the conclusion that Detective Robert Goren is the only man in the world who could possibly stop the Ripper."

A little smile played at the corners of Deakins' mouth. "Well I'm sure Detective Goren is very pleased with your assessment, Professor, but… isn't Jack the Ripper dead?"

"If only…" the professor lamented. Then, seeing the curious looks on the faces of all the others, "Oh, I'm sorry! I forgot to tell you! I'm…um… not from your time."

While the rest of them all thought "Oh, great! Another one!" Bobby felt sorry for the professor. In a way he reminded him of his Mom. Although Bobby was aware that the old was slightly off, he seemed harmless. And what could it hurt to just listen to a lonely old man spout his story? "So exactly what… time… **_are_** you from?"

"From many different times," the professor answered.

Bobby nodded.

Then Alex, somewhat sarcastically, asked, "what about Sherlock Holmes? Wouldn't **_he_** be a more natural choice? I mean, already knowing the area and everything—"

"My dear **_detective_**!" Osmet said, aghast. "Don't you know Sherlock Holmes is a fictional character?" They could all hear Logan snickering in the background, and Bobby looked at him threateningly.

"Anyway," the professor continued, "as I said, I've done research. And as brilliant as the fictitious Holmes was, you, Detective Goren, are infinitely more intelligent."

Deakins smiled as Alex and Logan rolled their eyes and Bobby stood there red-faced, knowing he wouldn't live this down in a million years. Even so, Bobby still had a liking for this old man.

"So," Osmet asked plaintively, "will you help me?"

Bobby couldn't help himself. He had a soft spot for the mentally ill. "Uh, I'll…see what I can do."

"Wonderful!" Osmet exclaimed. "Now, if I may use your…" he struggled for the right words. "Public facilities?"

"I'll show him," Alex offered. And the two left the office.

"Interesting man," Bobby said thoughtfully.

"Interesting?" Logan said. "More like a crackpot!"

Bobby turned and glared at him. Deakins stepped in and said, "Well, I have to agree, he's a little off-balance. I'm putting in a call to Bellevue."

"What?" Bobby said angrily. "Why!"

Deakins stared hard at Bobby. "What is your problem these days Goren! First you nearly fall for one psycho, then you try to get another one off the death penalty! And now…!"

Seeing the look on Bobby's face, Deakins softened a little. "Look, Goren, I understand your compassion and need to help these people, but even _you, _of all people, have to know how dangerous they can be."

"He's not dangerous!" Bobby insisted stubbornly.

"How do you know that?" Deakins demanded. "How do you know?"

Bobby paced the room, running his fingers through his hair, rubbing his neck.

"I…I don't know _how_," he said. "I just know he _isn't_."

"Well, not withstanding your 'intuition', I'm not having my best detective whacked by some nut job. You're not going within ten feet of the guy."

"But…" Bobby started.

"That's an order, Goren," Deakins said, picking up the phone. Bobby stalked out of Deakins' office.

After calling Bellevue, Deakins saw Logan still standing there sheepishly, and told him, "Go check on that 'professor'. I don't want him leaving."

Logan was a little miffed. "Aren't you afraid I'll get 'whacked by that nut job'? Oh, yeah, that's right, I'm not your 'best detective'."

Watching him go Deakins held his forehead. He was getting another headache. He didn't know who was more of a problem, Goren or Logan. He decided quickly. It was Goren. Bobby was just too damn empathetic and smart for his own good. Logan was just a pain in the ass.

Bobby went to his and Alex's desks, where Alex was still putting the finishing touches on their paperwork.

"We're done," he said, still angry. "Let's go."

As Alex gathered her things, Deakins came out of his office just in time to hear Logan say, "The guy's gone. He's not in the bathroom."

Alex looked surprised. "He has to be. I'd have seen him if he came out…"

"Great," Deakins muttered. He couldn't help but notice the little smile on Bobby's face.

It appeared that Alex was going to make her nephew's birthday party after all, which put her in a really great mood, and as she dropped Bobby off at his apartment building it was with the usual "see you on Monday."

Bobby, leather binder in hand, smiled at her and nodded. Letting himself into his building and into the elevator, his mind, as usual, was in overdrive. He was excited about his date tonight with an old girlfriend, but he also couldn't quit thinking about that professor. Turning the key in the lock, he was just about to open his door when he felt the presence of someone behind him. Whirling around, left hand simultaneously going for his gun, he found himself face to face with Professor Osmet.

"Jesus!" Bobby breathed. "You scared the shit out of me!… and nearly got yourself shot," he continued.

"I'm sorry, Detective," Osmet said apologetically.

"It's okay," Bobby said, a little annoyed. "How…how'd you do that?" he asked, amazed that someone could get that close to him without him realizing it until it was almost too late.

"Do what?" Professor Osmet asked, truly unaware of having done anything.

"Never mind," Bobby said. _I've just got too much on my mind._

"May I come in?" The Professor asked.

"Uh, yes, of course. Come in." Bobby stood back, allowing the professor to enter first. Once inside Bobby asked the professor to sit down and watched him carefully, wondering how Professor Osmet had found him so easily. The guy couldn't find him at MCS, where he was known, but could find his small apartment out of the thousands in New York City?

Bobby had years of experience in dealing with the mentally ill, thanks mostly to his own mother's schizophrenia, and was pretty sure he could handle this old man if need be. But just in case he kept his left hand close to his holstered gun.

Sensing Bobby's wariness, warranted though it may be, and seeing the gun in such close proximity to Bobby's hand, Professor Osmet said "My dear Detective, I promise you, you are not going to need that gun. If I had planned on harming you I could have done it very easily outside your door before you even realized I was there."

Bobby had to give him that point, and relaxed—a little. Bobby was smart enough to know that even a seemingly harmless old man, slightly off-balance to begin with and possibly under the influence of something could turn into a five hundred pound monster if provoked. But Bobby was also very intuitive, and he just had a good feeling about Professor Osmet-- and a few questions.

"So, Professor, would you like to explain just exactly what your business is with me?"

"Why, Detective, I already told you—"

"And don't give me any of that bullshit about being from the future!"

"I never said that," the professor explained patiently. "What I said was, I wasn't from _your time_."

"Whatever."

"I am from all different times. And I am on a mission."

"To…?" Bobby prompted.

"To rid the world of evil, of course!"

"Ah," Bobby said. "I see." _Damn! Was Deakins right about this guy?_

"No, you don't see, dear Detective Bobby—may I call you Bobby? But if you'll hear me out I think you will see."

"Okay, let's hear it." Bobby looked at his watch, remembering his date that evening.

By the time Professor Osmet finished telling his story, Bobby had completely forgotten about any possible date. Or anything else, for that matter.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"…And actually I was quite lucky to have all the factors come together at the same time," Osmet said, by way of explaining his method of matter displacement. It didn't take Bobby long to realize that Professor Osmet was an extremely intelligent man, if not a genius.

Bobby had another question. "Professor, you're obviously a…genius. Why do you need me?"

"I _am_ smart, that's true," the professor said humbly. "But my genius lies in math, and unfortunately math does nothing for my sleuthing skills. You, on the other hand, are intelligent in all areas, and your sleuthing, intuition, and deductive skills are second to none."

Again, Bobby reddened. But his excitement level was escalating by the second. He, Robert Goren, was about to tackle one of the most notorious unsolved crimes of all time. At the same, he had to question, if only a little, his own sanity. Twenty-four hours ago, hell, _two_ hours ago, he would have dismissed the very idea as totally crazy, the ramblings of a very lonely, somewhat off-balance old man.Something his mother might have dreamed up. Now here he was, ready to go nearly 120 years into the past and 3000 miles across the ocean on the whims of an eccentric genius, all in the hopes of catching the monstrous serial killer Jack the Ripper. Well, nobody ever said Bobby didn't have an open mind.

After a moment Bobby broached another subject. "Uh…my partner, Alex? I think maybe she might like to come along…"

"Well, it is a little unorthodox," the professor said doubtfully.

"Isn't this whole thing a little unorthodox?" Bobby countered.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Alex Eames had returned from her nephew's birthday party in a very good mood. Her little nephew, who was very into "Thomas the Tank," had loved his present from his Aunt Alex, a "Thomas" starter set. It was his very favorite of all his new toys.

"Did he like my present?" Bobby asked hopefully. Bobby had always loved reading, and had sent along a big picture book of "Thomas the Tank" stories.

"Actually, he loved it," Alex said. "Wanted someone to read it to him right in the middle of his party." Bobby smiled, pleased. Alex had always loved that Bobby cared so much for her nephew.

"I take it your date didn't go so well?" she continued. It didn't take a lot of detective work to come to that conclusion, as Bobby stood there with Professor Osmet.

"Um, I uh…didn't actually go on that date tonight," Bobby said sheepishly. "Guess I should call her sometime, huh?"

Alex nodded. _Men!_ "Yeah. You probably should." After a moment, "Okay, Bobby. Why are you here…with him?"

"Eames…you've got to hear this!" Bobby said excitedly.

After listening to about half of Osmet's story, Alex, always practical, was less than enthused, and in fact, began to question not only Osmet's but Bobby's sanity as well.

"Listen to yourself, Bobby! You're talking about going back in time! **_Back in time!"_**

Alex was really concerned. "Bobby…please. This isn't real…you know that. _It's not real!_ He's conning you, Bobby, he wants something—"

"No, Alex. It is real. Please, just hear him out. Will you do that? Please?"

Looking into Bobby's intense brown eyes, Alex couldn't resist him. "Okay," she sighed.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

5

A Leap in Time Chapter 3

So Alex listened. The enthusiasm between Osmet and Bobby was infectious, and Alex found herself becoming interested, curious, and despite herself, somewhat excited.

"Look, Alex, if we try this…this…moving through time, and nothing happens, what have we lost?" Bobby asked.

_Your sanity_ Alex thought, but didn't say it. "Nothing, I guess," she conceded.

The smile on Bobby's face made it all worthwhile.

"First," Bobby said, "we have to arrange for some vacation time—"

"At the same time?" Alex asked. "I don't know, Bobby. I can hear the rumors flying now…"

Bobby grinned. "Well, we'll just have to convince them otherwise."

"One last thing," Professor Osmet cautioned, "London, 1888—the 'Victorian' age—and specifically Whitechapel, where you'll be going, is not the romantic place it seems. What goes on there can be…is…well, not what you'd expect. It's a lot more different than you've been lead to believe."

Bobby pretty much knew this, having casually read about Jack the Ripper in his youth. Alex, on the other hand, was a little disappointed. The allure of the romanticism of the Victorian age was the main thing that attracted her to this case. But disappointed as she was about this aspect, it didn't deter her from wanting to make the "trip."

One Police Plaza

"So," Deakins said, raising his eyebrows, "you want vacation _together_?" The department frowned on partners fraternizing or dating. It was safer that way all around, and he wasn't sure this was such a good idea.

"Not _together,_" Alex corrected, "just at the same time."

"Why the sudden need for vacation?"

"Well," Alex explained, "my parents had that trip to Cancun all planned, and my younger brother was supposed to go… but something's come up with him and you know, my parents don't want the ticket to go to waste, it's all paid for and—"

"Okay, Alex, you've made your point." Then, to Bobby, "and what's your story?"

"I just need sometime, that's all, and I _do_ have the vacation time. And with Alex gone, well… you know. Just thought it would be more convenient. You wouldn't have to come up with a temporary partner for me… you know I don't do well with temporary partners."

_That's a bit of an understatement. _Deakins just stared at them for a minute, then agreed. "Okay, I'll clear it with the brass upstairs. You know" he said, by way of warning, "a little notice next time would be nice."

"Yes, Sir," Alex replied respectfully, and Bobby nodded. Both inwardly breathed a huge sigh of relief.

………………………………………………………………………………

Later that evening Bobby made a trip to Public Library. Although he'd read about Jack the Ripper in his early years, now he wanted facts. Straight facts without all the bullshit thrown in. Going to the history section he looked up all the information he could. The books all said that Jack the Ripper had never been caught. It also said the killings had stopped, which according to Professor Osmet, was untrue. The killings had continued, just in a different place, a city further south. Somehow, the officials had never made the connection, or chose to ignore it due to the notoriety it would bring to their fair city. Bobby, sort of a human sponge when it came to taking in information, ingested as much as he could in the time allowed. He also made a few photocopies of certain passages for personal use.

That night Bobby, already an insomniac, couldn't have fallen asleep if he'd been hit over the head with a hammer; he was way too wound up. He was more than excited, he was _hungry,_ hungry for the case that had baffled experts for over a hundred years.

………………………………………………………………………………

Bobby and Alex were supposed to "leave" early in the morning. Bobby, never having slept, was up early, as was Professor Osmet, who had slept on Bobby's couch, despite Bobby's insistence that he use the bed, while he, Bobby, took the couch. But Osmet refused; he would not think of putting Bobby out of his own bed.They were just waiting for Alex. Bobby paced the living room, back and forth, anxious to get started.  
Finally, Alex dragged herself in, mumbling something about not having slept well.

"Alex, I want to show you something," Bobby said, producing his photocopies from the previous night. Alex looked at them, then at Bobby.

"Just wanted you up to date on the latest," he said mysteriously.

"Okay," she said, not really understanding why she had to see those papers. She kind of knew some of it already.

"Remember it for when we get back—"

"**_If _**you get back," the professor interjected.

They both looked sharply at him.

"What do you mean '**_if'_?"** Bobby demanded.

"Oh…did I…forget to tell you?" Professor Osmet said sheepishly.

"Forget to tell us what?" Alex said, glaring at him.

"I'm so sorry!" Professor Osmet said. "The thing is, um…I can do nothing for you once you're there. You'll be completely on your own. You…you could be hurt…you… uh…could be _killed."_

"Great!" Alex said angrily.

Suddenly Bobby had his doubts. "Eames, I…I can't ask you to do this. I was wrong, I didn't think it through. The last thing I would ever do is put you in any danger. I'm sorry. You don't have to do this… you_ can't_…"

Alex looked at him, at those intense brown eyes. "But you're still going, aren't you?"

"Well…yes. I…I have to…"

"Well, you're crazy if you think I'm gonna let you hog all the glory on this one! If you go, I go. We're partners. A team…remember?" she said, smiling. "We've handled worse…well at least in our time."

Bobby smiled back, once again thinking he could not have asked for a better partner. "Then it's settled. Ready?"

"Oh, one more thing," Professor Osmet started.

Bobby and Alex sighed together. "What now?" Bobby said, then, in an attempt to lighten the mood, said to Alex, "he really _is_ an absent-minded professor!"

Alex just looked at him, shaking her head.

"Well, you can't be the one with the jokes all the time!" Bobby said, defending his joke.

"Why not? At least mine are funny!"

Bobby chuckled, then was all serious again. "What else, Professor?"

"Well, I just wanted to warn you. Getting there may be a little discomforting. Headaches, dizziness… but, I think you'll be able to handle it. Ready?"

Bobby and Alex looked at each other, then nodded to Osmet.

Their great adventure was about to begin.

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

A Leap in Time Chapter 4 

Bobby had never felt a sensation like this before. He felt like he was falling, into a deep never-ending chasm, deeper and deeper. The chasm was spinning, his mind was spinning. And his head was hurting.

Alex was having an out of body experience. She thought she could see herself on the floor, and Bobby, too. She watched, detached, as Bobby held his head; he appeared to be in pain. Then there was nothing.

London 1888

"God!" Bobby breathed. "Did you feel that?" He was still holding his head.

"Obviously not what you felt," Alex looked at him, concerned. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," Bobby lied. But he still held his head, pressing inward, trying to relieve the pressure. Then, "you…you're all right?"

Alex assured him she was okay.

Slowly turning his splitting head to look around, he noticed they were in an entirely different place. "Eames," Bobby said slowly, distracted…he was looking past Alex at the window. Alex turned to see what had caught Bobby's attention.

"Oh my God, Bobby!" She hurried over to the window, followed closely by Bobby.

"Eames," Bobby said, hardly breathing, "Osmet…he…did it, he really did it!"

Both of them stared, in awe, as a horse-drawn hackney pranced by. The cobblestone streets were gas-lit and very narrow, the highest buildings were three-story Victorian homes, the shops small, quaint, and personal. It was a picture straight out of Dickens.

Behind them, unnoticed, an elderly gentleman looked on in amusement. He couldn't help but think how much they reminded him of two small children, full of wide-eyed wonder on Christmas day.

He watched them for a while, delighted with their fascination, unwilling to put an end to the moment.

After a moment, Bobby and Alex both sensed eyes on them, and turned.

The older man smiled. "Detective Goren? Detective Eames?"

Bobby came forward, hand extended. "And you are Detective-Inspector Cromwell?"

"Retired," Cromwell said, shaking both their hands. "Welcome to London. 1888, year of our Lord."

After exchanging pleasantries, Cromwell scrutinized them, and remarked, "I expect the first thing you'll want to do is change into something more…ah, appropriate."

They looked down at themselves, then at each other. Bobby was wearing jeans and a black T-shirt; Alex, jeans and an oversize sweatshirt. And both grinned sheepishly.

"I have clothing for you. I trust they'll fit you. Professor Osmet has graciously provided your approximate sizes. Come this way, I'll show you to your rooms."

Once in her room, Alex found her clothes laid out on the bed. "Oh no!" Alex thought, picking up first a petticoat, then some stockings and some decidedly _non_-Victoria's Secret underwear, then at last a long dress with a high collar and long sleeves. "Great," she muttered, donning the clothes, thinking of her partner. "I swear, if he laughs I will literally kill him!"

On the other hand, the typically well-dressed Bobby was somewhat impressed with his clothes, particularly the waistcoat.

Emerging from her bedroom, Alex came downstairs to the greatroom where Bobby waited with Inspector Cromwell. Both Bobby and Cromwell turned as Alex entered. Bobby stared hard at Alex.

"Say one word and you're dead," Alex said, threatening him.

Bobby continued to stare. "I wasn't…Alex, you…you look…beautiful."

"Shut up, Bobby!" Alex said. _The last thing I need is your sarcasm._

But Bobby wasn't being sarcastic. He truly thought Alex had never looked more beautiful in the entire time he'd known her.

"This outfit is hardly practical for chasing down criminals," Alex grumbled, "_or_ serial killers." She then took in Bobby's attire, and had to admit, he looked great, debonair and _very_ handsome. But they weren't here to check out each other's looks, they had a job to do.

"Well," Bobby said, hardly able to take his eyes off of Alex, "shall we get started?"

They all went to the dining room, where Inspector Cromwell told them everything he knew about the case, the victims, and the suspects. Bobby seemed a little lost without his leather binder, and Cromwell offered him a journal, where Bobby immediately began to write.

Cromwell concluded with "As I said, I am no longer involved with the case. I retired recently, and my second-in-command, James Hammond, has now stepped up and is in charge of the investigation. Which, as you know, is going nowhere," he said sadly.

Bobby looked at Cromwell. "_You're_ the one who requested help from Osmet, aren't you? The reason we're here?"

Cromwell smiled, but there was no humor in that smile. "Yes, I did. This…Ripper…he totally has us baffled. He is way beyond our capabilities. We need someone who is smarter than him, and capable. We need help. The whole city is terrorized…"

By the time Cromwell had filled them in all the information he had on Jack the Ripper, it was well into the evening. Bobby was a little disappointed; he'd hoped to see and examine some of the bodies. That would have to wait until the following day.

"We're on our own for supper I'm afraid," Cromwell announced. "Not knowing exactly when or how you would arrive, I gave my housekeeper the day off. All she knows is that upon her return we will have visiting American detectives staying with us. And by the way, you'll be receiving a small salary—"

Bobby and Alex both protested, but Cromwell insisted. "Besides, it wouldn't look quite right if you both traveled all the way to London with no money, now would it?" And he proceeded to give them their "salaries."

Between the three of them, the best they could come up with for their supper was some boiled beef and potatoes. Finding it rather unappetizing, Alex ate little and remarked, "Hope that housekeeper is a little better cook!"

Bobby looked up from his potatoes. "Actually the potatoes aren't too bad." But Bobby was hungry. Bobby was _always_ hungry, and he hadn't eaten since last evening. He reached for another helping.

After retiring for the evening, Alex couldn't wait to hit that big feather bed, she was tired, and it looked _so_ inviting. Falling into bed she pulled the heavy quilts over her. The house was damp and chilly, just like the outside temperature, and she snuggled in. Sleep came easily.

Bobby, too, couldn't wait for bed. The big bed in his room was calling to him, luring him in. He was exhausted. Bobby thought he'd sleep like a baby, something so rare that he couldn't remember the last time it had happened. But once in bed, his mind as usual went into overdrive, and sleep wouldn't come. In the rare moments when he'd drift off, the same thoughts and nightmares that plagued him his entire life also plagued him here. And now there was the extra little problem of a maniacal serial killer out there somewhere, paralyzing an entire city with fear. And he, Bobby, was charged with stopping him. Bobby climbed out of bed and went to the window. He stood at the window for a long time, staring at the gaslit street below, watching…

The next morning Bobby woke Alex, who immediately started grumbling. Alex was not a morning person.

"Coffee?" she asked. "I assume they drink coffee in merry ol' England?" She didn't appear to be in a very good mood, but that was Alex before her morning coffee.

Bobby gave her a little smile. "I think we can probably come up with some coffee. Come on, Eames, get up."

"Leave me alone," she mumbled, pulling the quilts over her head. "Coffee! When I have coffee, I'll get up!"

Bobby sighed. "Hey, did I tell you what I'm getting you for Christmas?" Without waiting for her to reply, he told her. "It's a T-shirt with a dwarf on it. It says 'Grumpy'"

_That_ got her up. She grabbed both her boots, and threw them at him. One Bobby ducked, the other hit him in the head.

"Ow!" he laughed. "Okay, I'm getting you that coffee!" And he got out as quickly as he could.

After breakfast, everything was all business as the three of them prepared to go to the police station in Whitechapel. The further they got from London proper, and closer to Whitechapel, the seamier it became. Whitechapel was virtually a slum, very dirty and foul smelling, with raw sewage running through the streets. The place was teeming with prostitutes, even in the daytime. Most were mothers with no other recourse, trying to support their many children, about half of whom would not survive past the age of five. And many of those that did survive spent their days begging in the streets.

Before entering the police station, Alex felt a tug on her sleeve. A grubby little boy, all eyes and blond hair, looked up at her. He never said a word, just held up his little cup, those huge eyes saying everything.

Alex looked at Bobby, her heart breaking. The boy looked just like Johnny, her nephew. "Bobby…"

But Bobby was already digging into his pocket, pulling out about half of his salary, and dropped it into the boy's cup. The boy stared at the inside of his cup, and looked up at Bobby in wonder. He said something in an accent so thick they could barely make it out, then the boy ran off.

Cromwell ushered them both inside. "I'm sorry," he said. "There's just no way to feed them all…" He closed the door on the outside world.

James Hammond, the new Detective-Inspector, watched as the two American detectives entered. He was not a bit happy about their arrival. "I suppose there are no poor in America?" he asked contemptuously.

"Easy, James," Cromwell growled. "Remember, they're here to help."

"I never asked for help! We can handle this ourselves, we don't need outsiders—"

"Is that because your investigation is going so well!" Bobby interjected. He couldn't help it, couldn't understand how pride could prevent someone from asking for help when lives were at stake.

"Okay, Boys," Cromwell said, trying to make peace. He introduced them all. Hammond refused to shake Bobby's hand, but he did shake Alex's hand, possibly because she hadn't rubbed him the wrong way like Bobby. Bobby seemed to have a knack for that. However, the two other policeman there took to the Americans, especially young Willie, who seemed quite impressed with Bobby.

Hammond reluctantly began to work with Bobby and Alex, figuring he didn't have much choice.

"So far," he began, "we have a list of about nine suspects." His last few words were drowned out by a strange noise, coming from?…Bobby listened intently, then turned towards the jailroom.

"That's far enough, Goren," Hammond said, virtually ordering Bobby to stop. "It's only Harris, probably disciplining an unruly prisoner."

Bobby stared at him for a second, then pushed open the heavy door, which was normally locked. Entering the dimly lit hallway, he momentarily let his eyes get accustomed to the semi-darkness. Then what he saw enraged him.

A guard, about the size of Bobby, was standing over a prisoner. The prisoner was handcuffed and shackled to a large ring in the middle of the cell, on his knees as the sneering guard kicked and beat him with a billy club. The helpless prisoner was begging for him to stop.

In a flash, Bobby was on the guard. He kicked the billy club from the man's hand, and knocked him into the wall. The guard hit the wall hard, then sank to the floor. Bobby quickly regained control of himself. Staring hard at the guard Bobby said, in a chillingly quiet voice, "don't do it again. Ever." The others had followed Bobby in and witnessed the exchange. And none of them missed the look that passed between Bobby and that guard.

After exiting the jailroom, Cromwell then said the words that proved to be horribly prophetic. " I'm afraid, Bobby, that you have made yourself a very treacherous enemy."

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

A Leap in Time Chapter 5

Bobby was still agitated. "What about the cuffs!" he demanded of Hammond. Then, abruptly, he turned and headed back to the jailroom.

The guard, Harris, was rubbing his sore shoulder when Bobby burst back in. Involuntarily he stepped back as Bobby came towards him.

"Get them off!" he told Harris, indicating the cuffs on the prisoner.

Harris shot a quick glance at Hammond, who along with everyone else had followed Bobby back in. Hammond didn't react.

"Get the hell out of here!" Harris told Bobby.

"Why do you need the cuffs?" Bobby continued angrily. "He's already locked up! He doesn't need to be chained up like an animal!"

"You don't even know what this man's done!" Harris retorted.

"Yeah? Well I know what you did," Bobby said, getting in his face.

Then Alex was between the two men, her hands on Bobby's chest, pushing her big partner backwards. "Bobby…don't." Then Alex herself turned to Hammond. "Well?"

Hammond turned to Harris. "Get the cuffs off the prisoner."

Harris was shocked. "Wha…? He can't just come in here and—" 

"I'll take care of it, Harris. You take care of your prisoner."

Once outside the jailroom, Hammond exploded. "He's right, Cromwell! When you were in charge you would _never_ have allowed these two to come in and take over _your_ jurisdiction!"

"When_ I_ was in charge," Cromwell replied, "_I_ would never have allowed this abuse to take place!"

Hammond stared at them for a minute, then went to his office and returned a few seconds later with some papers. He threw them at Bobby angrily. "There's your list of suspects. Good luck.And just so you know, I'm still in charge here!" He returned to his office, slamming his door behind him.

As Bobby picked up the list of suspects, Alex remarked, "you know, Bobby, if you're shooting for at least one enemy from every century, you missed one of the best with the Spanish Inquisition. And Attila the Hun—_when_ was he from again?"

"Fifth century, AD," Bobby replied distractedly, still looking at his papers.

Alex rolled her eyes. "Well I'm sure any one of them would have been happy to get hold of you."

Bobby stared at her for a second, then back to his papers. "Look at this Eames." He held up his list. "There must be at least 40-some suspects." He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. "I don't think Hammond wants us to find him."

Alex looked at the list, then at Bobby. "He _did_ say they could handle it themselves."

"Except that they're not." Bobby paused for a moment. "I think…first, we need to see the bodies."

Alex wrinkled her nose. Although it was a necessary part of the job, it was not necessarily her favorite.

The medical examiner showed them in. "I was actually going to close down early today…I have an important engagement—"

"We won't be long," Alex told him.

"Well, as I told you, some of the bodies have been released and buried. These poor creatures are still here…" the medical examiner, George Richmond, showed them to the poor "creatures" that he still had in the morgue. They were the bodies of Elizabeth Stride and Catherine Eddowes, both murdered on the same day.

"Uh…do you mind if I examine the bodies?" Bobby asked, his curiosity drawing him closer and closer to the gruesome bodies. "And do you have a magnifying glass?"

"Have you made any determinations so far?" Alex asked, turning away just as Bobby moved in, magnifying glass in hand.

"Only that the perpetrator was a male, large, and left-handed," M.E. Richmond said, eyeing the left-handed Bobby suspiciously.

"Photographs?" Bobby asked, ignoring the obvious attention. "Do you have photos of the crime scenes and the victims?"

The medical examiner smiled broadly. Photography was rather new, and he was proud his office was one of the few to have photographs of crime victims.

"Well, here they are. Don't know what else you can learn from them, however, they've been examined by _real_ experts."

Bobby let the comment slide, and took the photos. "Think I can borrow these for a few days?"

"Well, actually, no. I don't think the police department would care to have outsiders absconding with their property."

"We have the authority!" Alex snapped.

"Not from what I've been told," Richmond replied.

Bobby took a step towards him, then stopped. "May I remind you," he said evenly, "that we _are_ the police department!"

Backing away slightly, Richmond repeated, "again, not from what I've heard."

Bobby straightened. They were not making this easy. He glanced at Alex. "Guess we'll just have to settle in here and study them for awhile. Eames, that shop down the street…think you could rustle up some lunch for us?"

"But I…you can't—" Richmond started.

Alex shook her head, and looked patronizingly at her partner. "Sorry. When he gets involved with something like this I can't drag him away…do they serve coffee in that shop?"

Richmond was flustered, "Well…I…maybe I…can let you borrow them overnight…?"

"That'd be great!" Bobby told him, putting the pictures in his new journal as he finished his examination of the bodies.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Riding around in a hackney cab everywhere they went was slow and tedious and it was already dark when they arrived back at Inspector Cromwell's house. Both were tired and hungry, and somewhat concerned with the interference they were encountering every step of the way.

Cromwell welcomed them back warmly. "So, how did the rest of your day go? After I left?"

"You don't want to know," Alex said glumly. "It just seems like everyone's against us…"

"And you're wondering why. Why they're rejecting you instead of embracing you and welcoming your help."

"You would think they'd want this guy stopped."

"Well, under normal conditions they would," Cromwell explained. "But right now this Ripper thing has made us an international disgrace. We're the laughing stock of the modern world. We've got two different police forces fighting to be the ones to solve the crime, to save face, and then in come you two Americans, eager to solve the case. When you do solve this case, which hopefully you will, it will be a big black eye for the London police."

Both of them looked at Bobby who was engrossed in the list of suspects and the crime scene photos. Cromwell assumed Bobby had not heard a word, intent on his work. "Oh, he heard you," Alex said. "He doesn't miss a thing."

At that Bobby looked up sheepishly. "Sorry. I… I understand what you're saying. But it just doesn't feel right. Something just doesn't jive, doesn't fit."

Cromwell sighed. "Well, Laddie, try to relax for a while now. Mrs. O'Leary has prepared us a wonderful supper, one I think you'll enjoy a bit more than last night's. A roast, with pudding and gravy. And I asked her to make some potatoes especially for you, Bobby, lots of them, since you seem to have such a fondness for them."

Supper was everything Cromwell had predicted. Both Alex and Bobby were ravenous, and the food was excellent. Alex wasn't sure she'd go for the Yorkshire pudding, but she ended up loving it. Bobby really liked the roast, but his kind side made himfeel somewhat obligated to eat the potatoes, and he concentrated on those. After their excellent dinner they again retreated to the great room where they discussed the case some,and they all got to know each other a little better. Finally,Cromwell announced bedtime for himself.

"Goodnight, Bobby. Goodnight, Alex. For what it's worth, I'm very glad you're on the case."

After Cromwell left, Bobby clutched his stomach."Dammit, I need an antacid…**_bad_**."

"Well I guess! After all those potatoes…"

"Wonder what they use for antacids here? Think I'll track down Mrs. O'Leary."

Bobby wandered into the kitchen, looking for the housekeeper. "Mrs. O'Leary?" No answer. "Mrs. O'Leary?" he asked again, looking around. Something caught his eye through the window. Going to that window Bobby peered out into the darkness, only to be met by a loud blast and a sharp pain in his arm. Instantaneously he grabbed his own gun, and ran to the door and outside, where another bullet zinged past him. Bobby took cover behind a column, crouching down on the porch as his sharp eyes pierced the darkness. But he saw nothing. A second later he was joined by Alex.

"Bobby! Are you—"

"Get down!" Bobby growled, pulling her down behind him. Everything was deathly quiet now, and Bobby slowly got up from his crouching position to look around.

"Bobby!" Alex hissed, afraid for Bobby as he went out into the darkness.

A minute later Cromwell, followed by Mrs. O'Leary, started out, but Alex stopped them. "Stay there!" she told them. "Bobby's checking things out, I'm going to help him." And she followed after him, as Cromwell ushered the housekeeper back inside.

Moments later Bobby and Alex returned.

"Well, whoever it was he's gone now," Bobby said angrily.

"Bobby," Alex said, looking at his arm, "you're hurt."

Seeing the blood on his once-white shirt, Mrs. O'Leary let out a little shriek.

"I'm okay," Bobby said, gingerly holding his arm as his shirtsleeve turned crimson."I don't think it's bad. I'll be alright."

Cromwell was unconvinced, and insisted on summoning a doctor.

About forty minutes later, as Alex and Mrs. O'Leary did what they could for Bobby's arm, a doctor finally arrived. "'Bout time," Alex grumbled.

The bullet had lodged itself pretty well into Bobby's arm, and it was with some difficulty that the doctor removed it. Bobby was not feeling well; he had lost a fair amount of blood, and the doctor (whom Bobby suspected was drunk)had a hard time finding the actual bullet. He ended updigging around in Bobby's arm, and after a good ten minutes of digging finally retrieved the bullet, leaving Bobby literally drained. He finally stitched and bandaged Bobby's arm, and insisted he go to bed.

As Alex, Cromwell and Mrs. O'Leary secured the house, Cromwell was worried. "This is not good," he said, over and over. "Someone is after Bobby, maybe the Ripper himself. And you, Alex, you could be in danger, too. This certainly is not good." He double-checked the locks on every entrance, door and window, then got the local constable to assign a policeman to help watch the house for the night.

Bobby, lying in bed, had some of the same thoughts. There was no doubt, someone was out to get them. And there wereas many as forty-some suspects. He was worried, for himself, but mostly for Alex. Bobby would never forgive himself if anything ever happened to her. Eventually, his arm aching relentlessly, he fell into a very troubled sleep.

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

A Leap in Time -- Chapter 6 

For a change it was Alex who couldn't sleep; normally she had no trouble, but everything was different now. They were stuck in a whole different century, their choice of course, but neither had counted on all these problems. They were only into their second full night here, and already they were making enemies left and right; Bobby had already been shot at and hurt.

Alex still couldn't sleep, she couldn't get Bobby out of her mind, so she got up out of bed, and quietly walked into Bobby's room to check on him. Poor Bobby, that doctor had really done a job on him. First, the doctor had appeared to be drunk, then he'd neglected to bring any type of painkiller, finally he fumbled around so badly digging in Bobby's arm that Bobby had broken out in a cold sweat and had mercifully passed out for a minute or two. At last they'd gotten some whiskey into him, which had helped some, and gotten him into bed. He'd fallen asleep (or passed out) in record time for him, thanks mainly to physical and mental exhaustion and the whiskey.

Bobby was still sleeping, but not very peacefully. He seemed to be dreaming, or having a nightmare, and periodically moaned softly. Alex hoped he wouldn't suffer any ill effects from all this. Obviously, medicine in 1888 was not quite up to 2005 standards. Watching him sleep (she didn't get to see this very often) he seemed so sweet and innocent, and with his tousled dark curls, almost child-like. The more she watched him the angrier she got—at herself, and that damn doctor. _WHY_ had she let that drunken fool of a doctor work on him when it was obvious the doctor was at least halfway drunk? In retrospect they probably should have waited till tomorrow, when they'd have more options. Now she had to worry whether Bobby would develop some kind of an infection due to the doctor's incompetence. If anything happened to him, she'd never forgive herself. She truly loved Bobby, not romantically; she just loved him.

Going back to her own room, she tried sleeping again, but kept having the strangest thoughts. Although Bobby was not seriously hurt, the worse possible scenario crossed her mind. What if, for some crazy reason Bobby died? How could she deal with that, and how could she explain his disappearance back in 2005? Could she even go back without him? But could she stay here by herself? What if she was the one who died? _Stop it!_ She screamed at herself. God! Was this how it was for Bobby every night? She thought that maybe she'd be a little more sympathetic to him in the future. _In the future._ That phrase was beginning to sound better all the time.

Alex finally decided she might get a little more sleep if she stayed in here with Bobby all night, so she pulled over a small couch, and finally got a decent night's sleep. At least this way she'd be nearby if he needed her. Also in case the shooter somehow showed up again.

Waking up the next morning Bobby could hardly move his arm. It was stiff, swollen and actually hurt worse than the night before. Looking over, to his surprise he saw Alex sleeping nearby, and smiled. He felt a little better already. He attempted to get up, but the weight on his injured arm was too much, so he just laid back and waited for Alex to wake up.

Before long, Alex began stirring, mumbling something, and soon became aware of Bobby watching her.

"You know, Alex, if you're not careful, you're going to give that housekeeper the wrong impression…" Bobby told her.

Alex smirked. "Just as long as _you_ don't get the wrong impression!"

Bobby feigned disappointment, then sat up, swinging his long legs over the side of the bed. He started to get up, using his arms to push himself up, but his arm failed him again. He fell back on his bad arm, grimacing in pain.

Alex frowned. "Still hurting bad?"

"It'll be okay," he said, not looking at her as she helped him up. He started to move around her, but Alex blocked his way. "Let me see it."

Bobby sighed as Alex rolled up his sleeve. "God Bobby!" she said, shocked at how badly his arm was swollen. "This doesn't look good. Can you move it at all?"

"You better get out of here before that housekeeper—"

"Bobby! Can you move it at all!"

He knew he couldn't, but tried again, resulting in even more pain. "Jesus…" was all he said.

Alex was really concerned. "Bobby… if that gets infected, or already is…" She didn't have to finish. He knew exactly what she meant.

"At least let Cromwell look at it. A second opinion."

Downstairs Cromwell, taking one look at Bobby's injured arm, immediately called in a different doctor. The new doctor was somewhat upset at that other doctor for leaving Bobby's arm in such a condition. Infection had already started to creep in, but the doctor thought he could control it since they'd caught it so quickly. He'd brought along a solution of Condy's fluid, and cleaned the wound thoroughly (a rather painful experience for Bobby) using the antiseptic. He then re-bandaged his arm, and put it in a sling to keep it elevated.

The doctor warned them all: if Bobby's arm got worse they were to call him immediately, more drastic measures would have to be taken, resulting in dire consequences for Bobby. He left some of the antiseptic solution with them, along with more bandages, some laudanum for pain and a promise to return in a couple days. And Bobby was supposed to rest.

After the doctor left, Bobby, slightly wornand in more than a little pain from the proceedings, took a dose of the laudanum. Then heheld up the list of suspects. "Chances are, our shooter will be among them," he said, leaving no doubt that he believed the shooting was not random, possibly it was the Ripper himself. "We're gonna need to interview some of these people _today_."

"Bobby!" Alex said. The doctor just said—" 

"We're three days into our 'vacation' Eames. We don't have time to wait for this to heal… If it starts feeling worse, we'll quit. I promise."

She didn't entirely believe him, but knew he'd get no rest anyway if he couldn't work on the case at least somewhat.

"Okay," she said, "but the minute it looks like the infection is getting worse, we're done. We'll be out of here so fast—"

"You can't," Cromwell interrupted.

Alex looked at him. "What do you mean, 'we can't'?"

"What I mean is, there's no way you can leave without Professor Osmet's help, and he won't be back for oh, about 3 weeks, give or take."

Alex looked at Bobby. "That's just great, Bobby! You could lose your arm, or die, in that period of time!"

"Alex, I promise you, I'll be okay. We're going to solve this, then we'll get out of here."

Alex stared at him, then said, very softly, "You better keep that promise, Bobby."

They decided they would work for a while at the house, then Bobby would rest for a while (as if he could really rest at all!), then they'd go and check out a few of the suspects.

The three of them spent the rest of the morning poring over the list.

"I thought there were supposed to be _nine_ suspects," Alex grumbled.

"Nine that_Hammond_ had narrowed it down to," Bobby said, still studying the list. "I think he wants to slow us down by having us start from scratch."

Cromwell, Alex and Bobby continued going over the list. They eliminated a few of the suspects immediately, and some more with the knowledge that Cromwell already had regarding the case. By the end of the morning they had it down to about eighteen suspects.

"Not half bad, if I do say so myself," Cromwell said approvingly.

"We may have narrowed it down to eighteen, but that's still a lot for the amount of time we have," Bobby said. "We're going to have to start now, if we're going to save any of these women."

"So much for you resting," Alex said sarcastically. "I'll be ready as soon as I adjust these undergarments." She grunted as she tried to hitch them back up.

Looking up, she noticed Bobby staring at her, barely unable to suppress his laughter.

"Go on," she told him. "Laugh. I dare you. You'll have two useless arms."

As Bobby began to protest, they all became aware ofa loud commotion outside, and they all went to the door. Pulling open the heavy oak door, Cromwell spied a young boy he knew.

"Joseph!" he called. "What is all the to-do about?"

"'Aven't you 'eard, Guvnor?" the boy shouted back. "It's the Ripper, sir! 'e's done it again, 'e 'as!"

Cromwell looked horrified. Eames looked shocked.

Bobby stiffened. "SON OF A BITCH!" he said angrily.

tbc


	7. Chapter 7

A Leap in Time Chapter 7 

It took the detectives about an hour to reach the crime scene. By the time Bobby, his arm in a sling, Alex and Cromwell could push their way through the crowd, Hammond was already there. Spotting Bobby, he shot him a triumphant look. Bobby wasn't sure if that look was for the fact that Hammond had beat them there, or the fact that the sling told him Bobby had somehow been hurt, and it pleased him. Which didn't please Bobby at all.

Hammond was just about to tell his men to remove the body, but in a few quick strides Bobby was there. "Hold it!" Bobby said to the men, before they could touch the body. As a crowd of morbid on-lookers closed in, Alex and Cromwell issued orders to stay back, and Bobby crouched down next to the body.

The weather was cold and damp, the air foul smelling and heavy, enough to make one nauseous to begin with. Seeing the horribly mutilated body didn't help. And the murdered body was in extremely bad shape. Part of the face was missing, there were numerous cuts and lacerations, and there was an extremely large incision in the abdomen where the entrails had been removed, and were extending over the body and beyond. Bobby had seen a lot of bad murders where the victim was horribly killed. But nothing this bad. Bobby's stomach rolled, but he still managed his examination of the body.

"She was strangled…" he said, judging by the bruises on her neck. "But he didn't cut her till she was on the ground. She was still alive…when he removed the entrails… The face was cut post-mortem." He could tell most of this from the amount and splatter pattern of the blood.

Bobby took in all the other smaller cuts and marks on the body, then got up quickly, glad to have this part over with.

Hammond had watched Bobby throughout the procedure. _He got it right_ he thought. _Got it all right. Have to fix that._

Alex, who had been trying to question people in the crowd, met up with Bobby. Taking one look at the body, she nearly gagged and had to turn away. They glanced at each other, each empathizing with the other's feelings.

Bobby and Alex were both mystified. How could these murders keep

happening, going unnoticed by anyone in a city that was teeming with millions of people, prostitutes on every corner every night and supposedly more police posted on the streets than ever before?

A moment later, Bobby called to Hammond.

Hammond walked over to Bobby, taking his time.

"Whadda you want?" he asked curtly.

"I thought you were going to put more police on? Someone was supposed to be here, in this very spot, all night?"

Hammond actually gave Bobby a shove.

"Now you listen to me you bastard!" he said angrily. "I told you I'm in charge here! If you don't like our methods you can ship yourselves back to America where you belong. And there's less chance of getting hurt."

"Is that some kind of a threat?" Bobby demanded, getting in his face.

Hammond retreated a step. "Just take it as a warning," he said, a smile starting to creep across his face. "Who knows? Maybe the Ripper will decide to take a liking to you."

Bobby ignored him. "Did you have someone at this post last night or not?"

"I already talked to him," Hammond said.

Alex spoke up. "We'd like to interview him ourselves."

"Don't know what good it would do. He never saw anything."

"We'd like to try anyway."

Hammond grudgingly agreed, and called over Constable Waters.

Constable Waters wobbled over. He was exceedingly drunk.

Bobby ran a hand over his face, frustrated. "Son of a bitch!" He was pissed. Pissed because the constable was obviously drunk and derelict in his duties, and because Hammond allowed this kind of thing to go on among his men with no consequences. And especially at a time like this when the man could possibly have some information on the killer.

Alex said, "Of course the guy didn't see anything—he can barely stand up! We need to talk to him as soon as he sobers up!" she finished angrily.

They had the policeman taken back to the police station to sober up. While that was going on they questioned a few of the locals. Nobody saw or heard anything,

Back at the station, the first thing on Bobby and Alex's agenda was to question Ernest Waters, who was now somewhat sober, and alternated between being belligerent and contrite.

"Didn't see nothin' sir. Didn't hear nothin', either," he announced.

"What time did you come on, start your shift?" Alex asked. Bobby kind of stood in the background, listening.

"About nine o'clock, mum."

"And about how many hours do you work?"

"About fourteen hours, mum. And then I try to help my wife out a bit. She's sick, got the black lung we think, and we've, um, got five little ones. The oldest, 'e's only seven, I'm ashamed to say 'e has to take to the streets with 'is little cup."

Bobby and Alex exchanged a glance. A thought shot through Bobby's mind, a fleeting memory of his own seventh year when Bobby first realized his mother wasn't like all the other mothers. His world had been turned upside down, and had never really righted itself. Shaking his head, he brought himself back to the present. In a soft voice he asked, "and when _do_ you sleep, Ernest?"

Ernest shifted uncomfortably. "I don't mean to do it, but sometimes I get me a little drink, when I'm out there at night, just to warm me up y'know, and I might just take me a little nap."

"Okay," Bobby said, "so basically you were asleep out there—how long?"

"Couldn't really say, sir. Ain't got me a timepiece."

"Okay, Ernest," Bobby said, knowing he wasn't going to get anything out of him. "Stay away from the booze, okay? And get some sleep—at home. "

Ernest exhaled deeply. He thought sure he was going to lose his job. "Yes, sir! Thank you, sir."

After they were finished interviewing Ernest, Bobby took out his list of suspects. Alex sighed. "Back to square one."

For the next few days, Bobby, Alex and Cromwell went over the list again and again, interviewing the many suspects. They were eliminating many of them, but still hadn't come up with a really good suspect.

Back at Cromwell's house, in the room they'd set up as their office, Bobby said. "Okay, let's go over it again. What do we know about our killer?"

"He's big," Alex replied. "And left-handed." She looked at Bobby. "Better watch it, next thing you know Hammond will be locking you up."

Cromwell gave a little laugh.

Bobby gave her one of his rare little half-smiles. "Well, he might want to lock himself up, too." Bobby was right, Hammond fit the bill every bit as much as him. "Maybe we should add him to our list."

"And the guard," Cromwell said, joining in. "Except he's right-handed."

Bobby went back to looking at the crime scene pictures. "The killer…he'd almost have to have some kind of medical training. Look at these…it's like a surgeon made these cuts. He removed their organs precisely without any injury at all to the surrounding area. We need to check into just the ones with current or a previous medical history."

The next day they were at the police station, checking in with Hammond. He was cooperating with them a little now that Bobby and Alex let him think he was in charge.

"I need to check out the University," Bobby said, referring to the University of London Medical School.

"And I'll talk to some of the ladies," Alex replied. "See if any one of them saw anything and are too afraid to talk. Maybe Jack will even show up."

"Okay," Bobby said. "Guess I'll see you sometime…probably tomorrow evening. And if I should be back late, don't go out by yourself at night."

Alex glared at him. "Bobby, I was doing this stuff long before I ever met you. I think I'm capable of taking care of myself!"

"Alex… c'mon, this is different. We don't have any surveillance equipment, cell phones, microphones…"

"It's okay. I've done this before!" Then in a softer voice she said, "I'll be alright, Bobby. I promise."

"Well, will you at least wait till I get back?"

"I can't promise, Bobby. We're down to a few days. If you're not back by tomorrow night…"

Inspector Hammond, who was finally cooperating a little, said, " If you're a little late, I'll have some of my men check on her constantly. We'll be there if she needs anything at all. She'll be fine. She'll probably catch the guy herself." It was obvious that Hammond at least liked Alex.

Bobby still looked skeptical.

"Too bad you even have to catch this guy," Hammond continued. "Between you and me," he said, "the world's actually better off without the streetwalkers."

_Great_, Bobby thought. _And this is the guy running our investigation?_

Alex went on. "And if you're held up for any reason, you'll know where to find me, the same place where the last murder was committed."

At Bobby's doubtful look, Alex said "I'll be fine, Bobby. You have to let me do a little on this case…"

"You have been!" Bobby said.

"Bobby, you are going to check the medical school, and I'm doing my thing. We'll both be fine. And that's the end of it."

Bobby sighed. When Alex made up her mind about something, there was no changing it.

"Alright," Bobby said. But he fully intended to be back early, before Alex ever went out.

Unfortunately for Bobby and Alex, things would not turn out exactly as planned. They were in for a rough couple of days.

tbc


	8. Chapter 8

A Leap in Time Chapter 8

Bobby made the trek to the medical school in a few hours. Although it was in London, it was more on the outskirts, and getting through the busy city was time consuming. He first went to the dean's office. Once Bobby explained his reasons for wanting to check the records, the dean, at first offended at the thought of one of his alumni being the object of the Ripper investigation, offered his full support, and showed him to the records office.

Bobby took out his list of suspects and settled in, expecting a long day. He decided he really did miss the computer, and Eames' expertise at it.

Bobby's list of suspects included:

Aaron Kosminski, supposedly insane, hated prostitutes, possible homicidal tendencies.

The Duke of Clarence, Prince Albert Victor who suffered from a form of mental illness, probably syphilis of the brain.

Montague John Druit, suspected by his own family of being the Ripper.

William Grainger, a drunk who had previously attacked prostitutes.

Francis Tumblety, arrested for indecent assault.

William Bury, who murdered his own wife with mutilations similar to the Ripper's.

Joseph Barnett, the lover of the fifth victim.

Walter Sickert, who could describe the victims' injuries in detail and had taken more than a usual interest in the case.

Sir William Gull, suspected of the murders as a cover up to protect the Duke of Clarence and seen in Whitechapel the nights of the murders.

Bobby spent the entire morning looking through the records. At last, Bobby began to get a little excited. Three of them had a medical background, two of them were actually doctors. He decided to check further into their backgrounds during the time they attended the school, and fully intended to interview them as soon as possible upon returning to Whitechapel. And if any of these looked promising, maybe Eames would hold off for awhile on her plan of "catching him in the act." Bobby really was totally against that.

Then, just for the hell of it, on a hunch, Bobby decided to look up Hammond's name.

It was there.

Although Bobby had half expected it to be there, it was actually quite a shock to see it there in black and white.

Just to be sure, Bobby went and spoke to Dean Withers, who had been there for over thirty years.

"Do you remember a student here, about fourteen years ago, a James Hammond?"

The dean thought. "Hammond… Hammond… the name sounds familiar, but I can't seem to place him…"

"He was tall," Bobby said, trying to jog his memory. "Maybe an inch or so shorter than me? Maybe there was some trouble?"

Finally Dean Withers remembered. "Oh right, James Hammond. He was one of a small group of students asked to leave, many years ago, for academic reasons."

"Academic reasons?" Bobby repeated. "What exactly would those 'academic reasons' be?"

Dean Withers looked uncomfortable. Bobby waited.

"Well," the dean started. "Of course we provided cadavers for the students, to learn all the aspects of the human body, and to practice surgeries. But this group wanted more, resorted to grave robbing to 'practice' more. They started to do more than just practice surgeries."

"What did they do?" Bobby asked.

Again Withers looked uncomfortable, and visibly upset. "Let's just say they did things that no human being should be capable of. And Hammond, he was the worst of the lot. As I told you, they were all asked quietly to leave."

"Why quietly?"

Withers sighed. "One of them, his father was well-to-do and influential. He insisted it be kept quiet, that they weren't to be expelled, they would just leave on their own. He claimed it would protect the reputation of the school"

"One more thing," Bobby said. "Did he ever carve initials on the cadavers?"

The dean stared at him.

"Yes…"

"The initials J R?"

"Yes, for James Richard Hammond. They called him J.R.—"

"Thank you," Bobby said, shaking Dean Withers' hand. You've been very helpful."

Bobby hurried back to Whitechapel, as fast as the horse and hackney cab would take him. He urged the cabby to go even faster. For the first and only time in his life Bobby wished he'd learned to ride a horse.

"Be much faster," he muttered.

On the ride back a million thoughts rushed through his mind—Hammond's initial reluctance to have them help on the case, the lack of consequences for Hammond's men for sleeping and drinking on the job, the fact the Ripper seemed to know exactly when and where the police were posted, and Hammond's obvious satisfaction when Bobby had been injured. Bobby was even sure that Hammond was the one who had shot him.

Another thought came to him, and it scared the hell out of him. What if Hammond got Alex alone? She didn't know… again he pushed the cabby ever faster.

Arriving back at the police station Bobby jumped down from the cab, and practically flew inside the door. He stopped short. Hammond was standing there, about fifteen feet away, with his gun leveled at Bobby's chest. A second later he felt the cold hard steel of another gun, this one shoved in the back of his head, right against the base of his skull.

Even colder was the voice of Thomas Harris from behind.

"Get down!" he said savagely.

Bobby resisted momentarily, and Harris shoved the gun even harder into Bobby's head.

"Get down!" he repeated, cocking the hammer.

With guns aimed at his chest and head, Bobby reluctantly complied, sinking to his knees.

Hammond kept a safe distance, his gun unwavering.

"Get his gun," Hammond instructed Harris.

Thomas Harris took Bobby's gun, jerked Bobby's injured arm out of the sling and removed his jacket, patting down both the jacket and Bobby. He then shoved Bobby face first onto the floor. Bobby was seething, just waiting for his opportunity. It never came. Before Bobby had a chance to make any kind of move, Hammond came up and placed his heavy booted foot on Bobby's neck.

"You move one inch and I'll crush your neck," Hammond said smoothly, as Harris took Bobby's arm and extended it behind him, twisting it slowly and painfully. Bobby grimaced, not daring to move with Hammond's foot on his neck and his gun pointed at his head.

Suddenly Harris twisted his arm forcefully, completely. Bobby cried out as his arm was twisted right out of the socket, badly dislocating his shoulder.

"Cuff him," Hammond ordered.

Harris gladly cuffed Bobby, forcing both his arms behind his back, purposely jerking his newly injured arm violently, and causing Bobby to cry out again in pain. Together they jerked him to his feet.

Hammond looked him straight in the eye, and announced "Robert Goren, I'm arresting you for the murders of Mary Ann Nichols, Annie Chapman, and Elizabeth Stride, with more possible charges to be applied at a later time."

Bobby looked at him incredulously.

"You fucking bastard!'' he started, but was cut short by a blow to the stomach, knocking the wind out of him.

"Get him to the back," he told Harris, as the two of them drug Bobby, gasping for breath, into the back and into a cell, accompanied by both men.

Once Bobby could get a breath, he attempted get the truth out about Hammond.

"He's the one who's the kil—"

Hammond hit him again in the gut. As Bobby tried once more to get his breath Hammond forced him to his knees, and put a chokehold on his throat.

"Gag him," Hammond ordered. "I want it so tight he can't utter a sound."

"Yes, sir!" Harris said. He was an expert at shutting up prisoners. From his pocket he took out an old bloody rag, used previously on another prisoner, and between them forced it into Bobby's mouth, leaving just enough room for him to breathe. It was secured with another filthy rag.

"It stays on till he's dead."

"Dead?" Harris asked, surprised.

"Didn't you hear me, you stupid shit?" Hammond demanded. "I told you, he's Jack the Ripper. He _cannot_ be allowed to escape. You've got a little more than twenty-four hours. You can do whatever you want to him, I don't care, but at the end of those twenty-four hours I want him dead. Shot while trying to escape. Even if he's already dead, put a bullet in his back."

Harris doubted that Bobby was really Jack the Ripper, but he didn't care. He'd just been given permission, no, _orders_, to seriously hurt this prisoner. Being the sadist that he was, Harris felt like he'd died and gone to heaven.

Then Hammond, to throw some more emotional baggage on Bobby, told him, "While you're in here, enjoying the company of Harris here, I'll be enjoying the company of your lady friend at the appointed place—"

Before the words were even out of Hammond's mouth, Bobby was on his feet charging him with everything he had. He slammed into Hammond as hard as he could, hoping to injure him severely. They both crashed to the floor, Bobby hurting his injured arm even more, and Hammond hitting his head on the floor hard, dazing him. Bobby tried to head butt him, but instead was kicked viciously in the face by Harris, bloodying his mouth and nose, breaking the nose. He was knocked off Hammond onto the floor.

Harris stood over the defenseless Bobby, his dislocated arm useless, his wrists locked behind his back. Harris took out his billy club, grinning. He beat Bobby unconscious.

TBC


	9. Chapter 9

A Leap in Time chapter 9 

Hammond watched in amusement as Harris continued to beat the already unconscious Bobby. His efforts to call him off went unheeded, and he had to physically pull him off Bobby.

"Harris! Ain't no point in beating a dead horse. The guy's out cold!"

Harris was breathing heavily, his exertions wearing him out.

"Yeah, but he'll feel it all when he wakes up," he said, panting.

"_If_ he wakes up," Hammond corrected. He lifted Bobby's head, looked at him and at the small pool of blood on the floor, then let his head drop back down to the floor. "You hit him pretty hard. I really don't care what you do, but you might want to control yourself a little. That is, if you want the fun to last longer…"

Then Hammond, who really didn't care much for anyone, ridiculed his guard, who was standing there rubbing his groin area, which Bobby had somehow managed to kick before Harris subdued him.

"Got you pretty good, didn't he?" Hammond laughed. "The bastard's chained up and hurt, and he still got you!" He continued to laugh, which only made Harris angrier. "Maybe you oughta shackle him, too, then he won't be able to hurt you anymore!"

Harris glowered. Now he had another reason to hate Bobby.

"Yeah, well he'll pay for it…"

"Less than twenty four hours, Harris. Remember that. Then he better be dead. Cause if he ain't, you will be."

The crazy look in Hammond's eyes actually sent a chill through Harris.

"He…he will be," he promised.

After Hammond left, Harris considered his words, and thought it just might be a good idea to shackle his prisoner after all.

Hammond went back into the station, where he saw Bobby's journal still lying on the floor where he'd dropped it. He picked it up and read it, along with all the other information contained in it, then placed it in a drawer in his desk. He had to give Detective Robert Goren credit, he was the only one to figure him out. Not that it mattered. For all intents and purposes, Goren was dead, and the secret would die with him. He would be accused of the crime, and shot while trying to escape. It would later be determined that Goren could not have been the killer, it had all been a horrible mistake. Too late for him, of course, and the Jack the Ripper case would forever go unsolved, while he, Hammond, continued on his killing spree. The only thing left to do now was to follow up on his appointment to "help out" the other American detective, that woman, Eames. Help her to set up her trap. Little did she know it would be Hammond setting up the trap, for her. And he was anxiously looking forward to that.

Alex Eames was starting to feel a little uneasy. Although Bobby had said it would probably be tomorrow night before he made it back, for some reason she expected it to be sooner. She didn't like them being separated. Maybe it was because they were in a whole new world that she wasn't comfortable in; she wasn't sure of the reason; it just didn't feel right. And she was worried, although Inspector Cromwell seemed to think it was unnecessary; he felt sure Bobby would be all right. But Alex was skeptical; something just didn't set right with her.

It was almost five hours later before Bobby regained consciousness. It was a slow process. He moaned softly, and gradually woke up to darkness and a blinding headache. He tried to get up, but the effort only resulted in more pain and total confusion when he couldn't. A feeling of panic ensued; he realized he had no idea where he was or what had happened. All he knew was that his head felt like it was splitting in half, (in reality, it was, as one of the blows from Harris's club had caused a slight fracture in his skull, causing some temporary memory loss) and his whole body just hurt horribly. Mercifully, a few minutes later he drifted off into unconsciousness again.

Harris came back to check on Bobby. Shining his lantern on him, he saw he was still unconscious, and cursed himself and Bobby. He could kick himself for being so stupid, for beating him so bad that he knocked him out so quickly. Well, within five minutes anyway. A short time for him, a long time for Bobby. Well, that wouldn't happen again. From now on he'd play it a little smarter, make him hurt but not let him lose consciousness.

Finally Bobby was starting to stir again, and his memory was starting to come back. He figured he must have suffered some kind of head injury, besides the pain, when he tried to lift his head he felt a slightly wet stickiness that he knew was blood. His head felt worse than the most horrible migraine he'd ever suffered, three times over. The rest of his body wasn't much better. His dislocated arm hurt unbelievably, his ribs hurt, the entire length of his long body hurt. His newly broken nose only added to the headache. When he tried to move, it only made it worse, so for a while he tried not to move at all.

Harris nudged him none too gently with his boot, pushing him over, face up. The lantern light flickering on Harris's face made him appear grotesque, a macabre monster in Bobby's worst nightmare. Only this wasn't a nightmare. It was the real thing.

The first words out of the sneering guard's mouth were "I owe you something…" and he gave Bobby a vicious kick to the groin. Bobby rolled over in agony, a strong feeling of nausea creeping up in him. He did _not _want to throw up, with the gag in his mouth he would choke to death on his own vomit. He didn't have much time to think about it before Harris yanked him to his knees again.

"The Inspector thinks I should go slower with you, prolong it a little," Harris told him indifferently. "It gave me a good idea. I read somewhere that in your Civil War prisons they had this thing they used to do to prisoners…" he tried to remember. "Oh yeah, I think they tie your wrists to your ankles, real tight like, kinda bends ya back like a bow, then they put this pole or something behind your back to keep ya from moving, I guess…that sound right?" Harris's demeanor made it obvious that he was a sociopath; he talked to Bobby about his torture and death as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

Getting no response from Bobby, he continued, "It's supposed to be real uncomfortable…you can't hardly stand it… Think maybe I'll try that on you." Leaving Bobby's cell, he turned around and locked it again. "Now don't you go anywhere while I'm gone."

Bobby had heard of that punishment; it was very harsh. He dreaded what he knew was coming. He also knew he had no way out, but he still tried desperately to escape the handcuffs and shackles but succeeded only in making his wrists and ankles raw.

A short time later Harris returned with some lengths of rope and a wooden pole used for tethering horses. He dropped his supplies next to Bobby, then went to work on him, again, indifferently, his only emotion being pleasure at Bobby's obvious discomfort.

Bobby was made to kneel with his shackled legs on either side of the metal ring. Harris ran the chain of the shackle through the ring, effectively securing Bobby. He took one end of the rope and tied it to Bobby's handcuffs and ran it through the chain on the shackles and through the metal ring on the floor. Then he started pulling down on the rope, hard, forcing Bobby's back into a sideways "U" shape, (the lower portion of the "U" being how Bobby's back was bent), at one point even stepping on the rope to force him back even further, then tying off the rope. Taking another length of rope, he tied it around his arms above the elbows, pulling it tight and forcing his elbows together, putting even more stress on his shoulders, one of which was already dislocated. There was something else… oh, yeah. Taking the pole he forced it between Bobby's elbows and his back, virtually assuring that he couldn't move. Stepping back to survey his work, he saw the pain in Bobby's eyes as he tried to adjust himself to relieve some of the pressure, but he couldn't move. He could tell it was bad. Bobby's legs were shaking from the cramping that started almost immediately, and although he couldn't see it, his back was also cramping, sending spasms of pain throughout his body, especially his back.

Harris was satisfied…this guy was suffering, and it would only get worse. He watched Bobby for a while longer. "Guess I'll go get me a bit of a drink down at the tavern. All this work's made me thirsty. I shouldn't be too long, then I'll come back and check on you." Picking up his lantern, he left the cell, locking it behind him. Taking a last look at Bobby, he turned and went back to the station, the light becoming dimmer and dimmer as he went. Bobby could hear the door opening and closing, and then he was in total darkness again.

Bobby was in agony. He actually wished Harris was back, beating the crap out of him; at least there would be an occasional respite from the pain. This was constant. The pain he was going through was excruciating; his leg muscles were cramped all over like dozens of never ending charley horses, and his back hurt unbearably, his spine bent at an ungodly angle, with continual spasms. Combined with his other injuries he was in a bad way. He felt like screaming, which he couldn't do anyway, or to physically cry, just to let it out. But he'd never give them that satisfaction.

Bobby kept trying to think of things—anything—to keep his mind off the pain, trying to block it out, but it was hard. He wondered if he would actually die here. What would become of Alex? Alex! He suddenly remembered Hammond's last words to him—that he would be keeping that appointment with her. God! Why did he bring her here? Why did either of them have to come? It had been a fiasco from day one. Bobby berated himself. It was his fault for wanting to be a big hero, solve the Jack the Ripper case. Well, he'd solved it, all right, but at what price? His and Alex's deaths. He didn't care so much for himself, he deserved it. Besides, death would be a welcome relief from his suffering. But Alex—his Alex—she didn't deserve any of this. He couldn't bear the thought of what Hammond would do to her. The tears finally came to his eyes. _I'm sorry_ _Alex,_ he thought over and over. _I'm so sorry!_

tbc


	10. Chapter 10

A Leap in Time Chapter 10

After exiting and locking the jailhouse, Harris turned, startled, to see Willie in the station.

"What are you doing here?" Harris demanded.

"I…um, I'm starting my shift," Willie stammered. He found himself staring at the blood on Harris's pants.

"You got a problem, kid?" Harris said threateningly.

Willie hated when he called him "kid." "N..no," Willie said, tearing his eyes away from the pants. "I'm just surprised to see you, didn't uh…think we had any prisoners right now…"

"We **_don't_," **Harris told him. Grabbing the front of Willie's shirt he told him "just stay out of my business." He let go of Willie's shirt unexpectantly, sending Willie stumbling backwards. Harris looked at him disgustedly; this wimp would never be a man. Technically Willie outranked him, but he was still afraid of him. Harris was a big man, surly and mean, who drank like a fish. Most people were intimidated by him, which was the way Harris liked it, and planned to keep it that way. It made him feel powerful. And nothing made him feel more powerful than to take a defenseless prisoner, cuff him and beat the crap out of him. Just thinking about it gave him a little thrill. He hadn't even left yet and already he couldn't wait to get back to Bobby. But he still had time. He locked the door to the jailhouse, and left for the tavern.

Willie busied himself around the station, doing the little odd jobs he did while on his shift. But his mind kept going back to the blood on Harris's pants. He knew Harris often roughed up the prisoners, despite the rules against it (which, since Cromwell had retired, had never really been enforced). But there were no prisoners now. They'd all been sent off to the various prisons and workhouses…so how? Oh, well, he'd mention it to Hammond next time he saw him.

"Something's wrong," Alex said, watching out the window as the gloomy day was drawing to an end and evening was approaching. "Shouldn't he be back by now?"

"There could be any number of reasons why he's not back yet," Cromwell told her. But the fact was, _he_ was concerned, too. He's originally thought that Bobby had over-estimated his time, no doubt on purpose so his partner wouldn't worry. And at first he's thought everything would be fine. But he really should have been back, a long time ago.

"Have you changed your mind about waiting to out tonight?" Cromwell asked.

"No," Alex answered. "Why should I?"

"Well, I just thought with Bobby still not here—"

"I can do this without Bobby!" Alex was starting to get upset. "He knew about this! And he knows where to find me, and when. I AM doing this, with or without Bobby!"

"But—"

"Besides, " Alex said, softer, "Bobby will be there. I don't know where he is right now, but he'll be there. I know him. He'll be there."

Cromwell sighed. He'd sighed more in these last two weeks than in his entire life. He went back to staring at his newspaper, and wondering about

Robert Goren.

Willie was waiting for Hammond to show up. He hadn't been here all day. He tried to remember, did he say he wouldn't be here today? Strange.

He wanted to go into the jailhouse, but was afraid of Harris showing back up, no doubt drunk again, and meaner than ever. He didn't want to be in there when that happened. Besides, he didn't have any idea where Harris hid the extra keys…if there were extra keys. Willie tried to keep himself busy, doing all the little chores that needed to be done. Then he remembered a report he was supposed to write up. Thank God he'd thought of it before Hammond did show up.

Willie went to Hammond's desk and sat down, looking for some writing equipment. Finding none on the desk, he began looking through the drawers, and came upon Bobby's journal. _Now why would Detective_ _Goren's book be in_ _Hammond's desk?_ He thought idly. Picking up the journal, he glanced through it. He had really taken a liking to Goren and more so after reading some of Bobby's notes. Then he got to the part about Hammond. He stared at the book in disbelief, then hurriedly put the book back in the desk, and pushed the chair back, scraping it loudly across the floor. Willie practically jumped up, hands in hair, and paced nervously. What the hell was going on? After a moment or so, something clicked, and he went to the door of the jailhouse. He turned the knob; no surprise, it was locked; jiggling the handle didn't help.

"Detective Goren!" he yelled. No response. Louder, "Detective Goren!" Even if there had been no gag in Bobby's mouth he couldn't have responded. He was barely conscious. One last try, "GOREN!"

Willie was starting to panic. What if Detective Goren was back there, hurt or even dead? What if Hammond showed up now? What if Harris showed up? What should he do?

Going to the front of the station, he opened the door and looked down the street. No Hammond, thank God, and no Harris. There was a beat cop a ways down and he called him over. When the beat cop arrived, Willie told him, "I need you to get Inspector Cromwell right away!"

When the beat cop just stood there, Willie urged him, "Quickly!"

Still the old cop stared at him. He didn't like taking orders from this young whelp. "You know the Inspector's retired, don't you? Don't think you should go about bothering—"

"GET HIM NOW!" Willie said, with more authority than he'd ever shown since coming here. The older cop blinked, surprised. "If you think—What I THINK," Willie told him evenly, "is that you either get Cromwell now, or you lose your job and you and your family end up in a workhouse paying off your debts!"

Even more surprised, the cop responded, "Yes sir!"

"And make it quickly. Tell him it's an emergency!"

Some time later there was a short rapping on Cromwell's door. Cromwell himself answered the door, to find the older beat cop from the station. After hearing the cop's story, he called up to Alex.

"Alex! Can you come down here for a minute?"

A few minutes later, Alex emerged.

"Alex, I have to leave for a little while. Don't expect to be gone too long…"

Now Alex sighed. Was this another ploy to keep her from going tonight? If so, it wasn't going to work. "If you think this is going to keep me here tonight…"

"Alex, it is not a trick. I really do have to go to the station, there's a problem."

"Okay," Alex said. "If you're not here in two hours, I'll be gone, by myself or not."

Going out the door, Cromwell thought, _she sure is a feisty little thing_. Then he thought of Bobby, and smiled. They really did make a good team.

The ride into Whitechapel was hurried, but uneventful. He couldn't imagine why young Willie would need him. He _was_ retired, and there was any number of people he could ask for assistance. But he'd have to wait till he got there.

Thomas Harris had consumed more than his share of bourbon, and he was feeling it. He felt mean, and had to take it out on something, and the chairs in the bar just weren't getting it. He needed something more. Then his thoughts turned to his prisoner, and he decided he didn't want to wait, didn't want to make it last longer, he just wanted to beat the shit out of his prisoner some more. It was getting close to the time to kill that bastard anyway. He had never killed anyone before, and the thought of it was getting him excited. He decided he'd have a little more fun, really teach this guy a lesson, and then kill him. Harris returned to the station, drunk, reeling on his feet, only to come face to face with Willie.

Willie was scared to death. He could see that Harris was way out of control. Harris ignored him, and started for the jailhouse. He looked at his prisoner, and smiled. He knelt next to him, cutting the ropes that held him in position, but the handcuffs and shackles remained in place. "This is your lucky day," he told him. "It's almost over."

Harris grabbed a handful of Bobby's hair and suddenly shoved his head forward, simultaneously jamming his knee up into Bobby's face, smashing it again. Bobby's limbs were so numb he couldn't support himself, and it didn't take much more than a touch from Harris to send him first-face to the floor.

As Harris was about to send a kick to Bobby's ribs the sight of Willie, gun in hand, stopped him.

"Touch him again and I'll shoot you," Willie said firmly.

Harris laughed. "You ain't got the guts!" and delivered a vicious kick, rolling Bobby onto his back.

Suddenly a shot rang out, and Harris screamed, clutching his shoulder.

"Now get away from him," Willie ordered.

Harris backed away, staring unbelievably at Willie. Then his glance shifted behind Willie, where Cromwell had appeared.

"He…he shot me!" Harris declared, looking for a way out.

"That he did!" Cromwell agreed. "And if he hadn't, I would have. Willie, put him under arrest for assault with intent to kill." Cromwell also had a gun leveled at Harris.

"Yes, Sir!" Willie took great pleasure in putting the cuffs on Harris. After making sure Harris was secured, they anxiously turned their attention to Bobby.

They quickly and gently lifted his head, untying the gag, and removing the filthy cloth they had jammed in his mouth. Bobby tried to speak, but nothing would come out.

"Water," Cromwell told Willie. "Get him some water, quickly."

Willie ran to get some water as Cromwell checked out the wound on Bobby's head from the billy club. He frowned. As Willie put the cup to Bobby's lips, Bobby, parched from over twenty-four hours in a gag, tried to drink it all. Cromwell pushed Willie's hand away.

"Easy, Bobby. Take it slowly—"

"No!" Bobby rasped, shaking his head as animatedly as he could. Finally he got out what he was trying to say. "Alex!" he gasped.

tbc


	11. Chapter 11

A Leap in Time Chapter 11 

Alex was pacing in the great room at Cromwell's, growing more impatient with every step. _Where the hell was Bobby? For that matter, where the hell was Cromwell?_ If they didn't show up soon, she'd have to go out on her own. She didn't particularly want to go out on her own, but they didn't leave her much choice. They were now down to the nitty gritty as far as time was concerned; it was now or never. Besides, Alex was convinced that Bobby would be there. He'd never let her down yet.

Finally Alex decided it was time. Calling for Mrs. O'Leary, she asked her to arrange for a hackney cab. Then she went upstairs to change into the clothes Mrs. O'Leary had provided. It was an old housekeeper's dress, previously owned by Mrs. O'Leary's daughter, practically in shreds. Just perfect.

Appearing before the housekeeper in the old dress, Alex asked, "Well, how do I look?"

"You look exactly like you're supposed to look," Mrs. O'Leary replied. She was not very happy about Alex going out, either. She, too, had grown very fond of the two detectives from America.

Alex took no notice of her tone. The hackney cab had arrived, and she was on her way.

Back at the jailhouse, Cromwell was attempting to minister to Bobby who was still in a lot of pain from his injuries and being tied in a torture position for more than a day. He was still handcuffed and shackled; Willie was extracting the keys from Harris by force. Bobby suddenly stiffened, in acute pain, as the blood that had been partially cut off from his muscles for so long starting coursing through his body again. It was extremely painful.

Not being able to help Bobby in any way through this one, Cromwell could only wait for the pain to run its course.

"Okay, Bobby," Cromwell told him, "We're going to get these chains off you now." He gently turned Bobby enough to cut the rope that had forced his arms together above his elbows, then unlocked the handcuffs and shackles. In addition to his other injuries, Bobby's wrists and ankles were raw and bleeding, from the tightness of the cuffs, his struggling to free himself, and being knocked around while handcuffed and shackled. He was so stiff he could barely move, and his head and dislocated shoulder ached horribly.

At last Bobby was free, but it would be a couple of days before he could even walk. Harris watched, still angered by it all, like it was Bobby's fault. "I should've killed him right away, just finished beating the shit out of him like I wanted. But I hit him hard, real hard. Knocked him out good…" Harris sneered, like it took a real tough guy to beat a helpless handcuffed prisoner. "I wanted to just keep on beating him, but Hammond, that bastard, said to wait for him to wake up, to make it hurt more…then _this_ bastard wouldn't wake up. Took about five hours…I hope he suffers bad."

Cromwell glared at him. "Your turn's next. You'll find out what it's like when you're locked up in prison." That took the smile off Harris's face.

"Alex," Bobby again said hoarsely.

"She's alright, Bobby. I want to get you to a doctor as soon as possible—I don't like the looks of that head wound. Looks like he cracked you pretty good."

"I don't care," Bobby managed to get out, despite the fact that his head was literally splitting. They had a hard time trying to support Bobby without injuring him more, but finally managed to get him to the carriage.

"We gotta get Alex," Bobby insisted, his voice harsh and rough.

The day had started out gloomy as usual, but the evening was worse. It was cold and fog had settled in. The gas lamps shining dully through the fog cast an eerie ghostly glow over everything. There were shadows everywhere, some of them appeared to be moving, coming from all directions. It was even starting to freak out Alex, who was beginning to wonder if she maybe should have waited for Bobby. She was a little angry with him, and decided when he did show up, she was going to kill him.

She was at the designated corner, where the last murder had taken place. Looking down the street she could barely make out the figure of another streetwalker through the fog. She knew they were all over the place, the competition was tremendous. She decided to make herself less obvious to the regular customers by moving back into the darker and more dangerous alley, but hoping to make herself more accessible to someone who liked to stay in the shadows, more like the prey she was seeking. Then she heard the rustling noise behind her, and turned sharply. Peering through the darkness, she could see nothing. Then there was another noise. Again she could see nothing, but she was starting to get a little nervous and patted her dress, checking for her gun. Then the rat came scurrying out. Relieved, she let out a short nervous laugh. She could hear sounds of merriment coming from the taverns, screams and various noises coming from all different directions.

Gradually, as the fog became even thicker; she could barely see ten feet in front of her and she realized that if someone was hiding, waiting for their chance, she'd never see them in time. That was when she began to get scared. Was she crazy for doing this? She'd have to take that one up with a therapist when she got back, cause god knows she's gonna need one, her and Bobby both. She shouldn't be out here. Why did Bobby always have to be so damn right? And where was he? Then the thought that she'd tried to ignore all night pushed its way to the surface. There was something wrong, something wrong with Bobby. The images that came to her mind were horrible. She pictured Bobby lying out in a ditch somewhere, hurt, possibly dead, the victim of a robbery or an accident with the cab. Or he'd be here. Now she was shivering; from the cold or her nervousness, she didn't know.

Another noise, a rustling, and she whirled around, gun in hand. Before her stood James Hammond. She let out a huge sigh of relief, lowering her gun. "You scared me to death!"

"It's okay, Mrs. Eames," he said soothingly.

Suddenly Alex felt on the verge of tears, totally unlike her normal self, but these were not normal circumstances.

"Thank God you're here. I should have listened to Bobby—"

"Yes you should have," he said, advancing on her.

"We've got to find Bobby, something's wrong…"

Suddenly Hammond had her by the throat, pressing hard, and easily knocked her gun away. "You don't have to worry about Bobby anymore…he's dead."

Alex fought with everything she had, but was no match for the much larger man. As the air was being cut off from her lungs and she started losing consciousness, her last thoughts were of Bobby.

Bobby was trying desperately to speak, his voice was cracking but he managed to get it out. "Hammond is the Ripper! He'll go after Alex!"

Cromwell was shocked. "Are you sure?"

"Yes!" Bobby was getting impatient. "We have… to get her now!" His head hurt unbelievably.

"Alex is at the house, she's fine. What we need is to get you to a doctor—"

"No! She'll be gone! I know her…"

This is what Cromwell didn't want to hear. Now he had two of them to worry about. He knew Bobby needed medical assistance, especially after learning he'd been unconscious for so long. Now, at Bobby's insistence, he had to delay that help to track down Alex when he wasn't entirely sure she'd even left the house. But if she had, and Bobby was correct, she could be in a lot of trouble.

"Alright," he sighed, yet again. "Where to?"

Bobby told him about their meeting place, then leaned back, closing his eyes to block out any available light, trying to gather what little strength he could as Cromwell urged the horse on.

Finally arriving at the designated place, they tried to peer through the fog for any sign of Alex. Even Bobby, who had excellent vision, couldn't see a thing.

"Alex!" Bobby croaked, then listened intently. "Alex!" No answer. Then, seeing something glinting on the ground, "Down there," he said, pointing with his good arm.

Willie hopped down and retrieved the object, handing it to Bobby. Bobby looked at it and said softly, "It's Alex's."

tbc


	12. Chapter 12

A Leap in Time Chapter 12 

Bobby stared hard at the object in his hand. It was Alex's gun, the one given her by Cromwell.

"I'm sorry, Bobby," Cromwell started, as Willie hung his head, too sad for Bobby's sake to even look at him.

Bobby's eyes took on a steely glint. "Yeah, well she's not dead yet!"

Both Cromwell and Willie looked sharply at Bobby. "What…?"

"He's changed his M.O.," Bobby said, thinking fast. "It's different with her. If she were already dead her body would be here, right where she was killed, like all the others. He wants her for something…he's keeping her alive…"

Willie hopped back onto the carriage. "Where do you think—"

"Hammond," Bobby said brusquely. "Where does he live?"

"About two miles east of here," Cromwell said, already turning the horses in that direction. "You think he took her there?"

Bobby didn't say anything, just silently prayed she was there and still alive.

""

In the dark and damp cellar of Hammond's house, Alex was just waking, to find Hammond standing over her. She was lying on some kind of table, wrists and ankles tied down, and her dress pulled up to her chest, exposing her abdominal area. She tried to get up but her efforts were wasted.

"Bobby…"

Hammond looked down at her and smiled. "He's dead," he repeated, staring at Alex, who choked back a sob. She had never been so afraid in her life; she was terrified. She couldn't believe she was actually still alive; when he had been choking her and she was losing consciousness she thought it was all over. Why hadn't he killed her on the spot?

"You're special," he said in answer to her unvoiced question. His finger traced an imaginary line across her belly. "You're not like all the others.

They sell their worthless bodies for money. They let their children go hungry, leave them to fend for themselves. They are the scums of the earth. All women are…but you, you're different…"

Alex stared at him in horror. "W-what are you going to do?"

"You're special," was all he'd say.

Then Alex had to ask. "What did you do to Bobby?"

Hammond smiled. "Your 'Bobby' suffered." He watched her eyes, enjoying this. "Harris didn't treat him kindly…beat him senseless…cracked his skull…"

Alex's stomach lurched. She'd seen what Harris did to that other prisoner; she could only imagine what he'd done to Bobby, whom he hated.

"I had to pull him off your Bobby, so he'd be alive to torture. Harris was real good at that." He looked at his pocket watch. "If he even survived at all, Harris should be putting a bullet in his back right about now."

A sob escaped Alex. Hammond was leering now. "Yours won't hurt quite so much. But the end result will be the same." Taking his knife out, he cut a very shallow line across her belly, leaving a thin trail of blood. "This is where I'll cut you. You'll hardly feel it. Then I'll pull your insides out—"

Alex shuddered, and Hammond laughed. "You can live like that for some time…you had to ruin it, you and your partner… but you'll pay…"

Then he heard it, the unmistakable neighing of a horse, close by. He listened intently, clamping a hand over Alex's mouth.

Outside Willie and Cromwell clamored down from the carriage. Bobby tried to also, despite being practically unable to move. Cromwell wouldn't let him.

"I have to help Alex!" Bobby insisted.

But Cromwell was adamant. "You're smart enough to know you won't be of much help! Not in your condition. If anything, you'll be more of a hindrance!"

Bobby knew he was right, but didn't like it one bit. "Then go!" He fully intended to go too, after they had left. He tried to stand up, but could not do so, falling back onto the seat of the carriage. He cursed vehemently.

Hammond knew they were coming for him; how they'd managed to figure it out crossed his mind briefly; his only thought now was escape. Quickly cutting the ropes holding Alex, he grabbed her and shoved her in front of his body for a shield. Climbing out of his cellar, he pushed Alex out the back way, only to encounter Willie.

"Stay back!" he said threateningly, holding the gun to Alex's head. Willie backed off, as Hammond backed in the opposite direction. They were almost out of sight in the fog when Cromwell appeared. Catching just a glimpse of Hammond, Cromwell yelled, louder than necessary, "the carriage! Willie! He's headed to the carriage!"

Hammond took advantage of his luck, and went straight for the ready and waiting carriage. About ten feet from the carriage, Hammond and Bobby faced each other.

"Get out of there or I'll kill her!" Hammond snarled viciously, the gun on Bobby, still holding Alex in front of him.

Bobby, who'd finally managed to barely stand up, was holding Alex's gun on _him_.

Unexpectedly, Alex twisted a bit, leaving an opening for Bobby. Hammond and Bobby both shot, Hammond's bullet whizzing past Bobby's head. Bobby's shot was dead on. Bobby looked down at the dying Hammond. "They are going to love you in Hell," he said.

Two days later.

Things had calmed down quite a bit. Cromwell had decided to come out of retirement, just long enough to properly train Willie to take his place. For his work in helping to solve the case, Willie had been given a big promotion. And the guard, Thomas Harris, already arrested, was to be charged with various crimes, including assault with intent to kill an officer of the law, and many other assault charges.

"I just wish you were going to be there to testify," Cromwell said. "But with your written testimony, and Willie's and my testimony, plus all those other prisoners he beat, Harris should be in prison for a very long time."

Bobby just nodded, and Alex said, "It'd almost be worth it to stay and see just how well he fares in prison." That got a smile from Bobby.

For his part, Bobby was ready to make the trip home. It had been pretty rough going for him. Although he could stand a little, he still couldn't walk, and lying on his back was almost impossible. Lying in _any_ position was painful. And he was still having blinding headaches from the crack in his skull. A doctor had somewhat fixed his arm, but it and the rest of him was going to need to see a twenty- first century doctor immediately upon arriving home.

After another delicious dinner of roast beef, potatoes and Yorkshire pudding (they still kept plying Bobby with potatoes, and Bobby didn't have the heart to refuse them) Bobby and Alex knew they had to come up with a good reason for Bobby's condition. Sitting around the great room with Cromwell on their last night there, they tried to come up with something.

"Skiing accident?" Alex suggested.

"I don't ski," Bobby muttered, then joked, "hence, the injuries!" After they all laughed about that bit Alex decided Deakins would never believe it.

"I got mugged?" was Bobby's suggestion.

Alex snorted. "Even worse than the skiing. I can hear Logan now: 'YOU got mugged?'"

"Not as bad as 'YOU went skiing?'"

Alex had to give him that.

They finally decided on the mugging.

So, after a lot of drinks, smokes and talking, they all finally called it a night.

""

Finally it was morning. They got up early, kind of excited to be going home, and kind of sad, too. They went downstairs to find Cromwell up and waiting. Along with him was Professor Osmet, who greeted them fondly, and congratulated and thanked them profusely.

"Ready?" Osmet asked.

"In a minute," Bobby said, as he and Alex walked over to Cromwell. Bobby extended his hand, and Cromwell shook first Bobby's, then Alex's hands. "Bobby, Alex… I, and I speak for all of England, want to thank you both for all you did. Jack the Ripper would never have been stopped if it weren't for you. And on a personal note, I want you to know that it has been one of the greatest pleasures in my life to make your acquaintance, and even more of a pleasure to know you personally. I hope the New York Police Department knows what they have in you, and appreciates you both. I'll…never forget you." Cromwell looked like he might cry.

And despite her initial reluctance to even make this trip, Alex felt like crying, too, and hugged Cromwell fiercely. "I'll never forget you, either!"

Then Bobby paid him the greatest compliment he ever could have. "You've…been like a…a father to me… Thank you." As Bobby and Cromwell hugged, Cromwell somehow, without knowing the reasons, understood the significance of that statement.

"You take care of yourself," he said roughly, "I don't want to have to worry about you for the rest of my life! Literally!"

"I will," Bobby promised.

"And you take care of each other. Alex, make him go to the doctor when you get back. And you, Bobby, watch her. She's feisty."

They all laughed again. Then Bobby and Alex looked at each other, and Bobby said, "That's one thing you won't have to worry about. Alex and me, we're partners. And we watch out for each other. That's what we do."

Then Professor Osmet, reluctant to break this up, but working within a specific time schedule, again asked then gently if they were ready.

"Ready," they both answered.

New York City 2005

The first thing Alex and Bobby did upon arriving back in NYC was get Bobby checked out by a doctor. His injuries, for the most part, were not life threatening, in fact, some were already starting to heal. His dislocated shoulder was repaired and immobilized so it would heal and his arm placed in a sling. They didn't know what to make of the bullet wound in his arm, which was so botched they couldn't even identify it as being from a bullet, which was a good thing; Bobby didn't want to have to explain a bullet hole in his body. His face was still swollen and all different colors of purple and blue, and his broken nose would eventually heal on its own. All of these injuries would heal in time.

The worst injuries were his back and head. The ligaments and muscles in his back and legs had been strained and were now stiff (a mystery to the ER docs) and they were going to try a series of back strengthening exercises to help. But by far the worst injury was the head injury. X-rays showed that, indeed, his skull had suffered a slight linear fracture and because of his headaches and the fact that he had lost consciousness for so long they admitted him overnight for observation.

The following afternoon, Bobby was released with a prescription for pain and a list of symptoms to watch for concerning his fracture, some of which included vomiting and more of his excruciating headaches. If any of these symptoms came up he was to return immediately. And he was to be on bedrest for at least two weeks.

"Like that will happen," Bobby muttered.

"It better!" Alex said forcefully. "You promised Cromwell."

Thinking of Cromwell, Bobby agreed. "Deakins is going to love this," he added.

"Well, we already knew this wasn't going to be easy." They had decided to talk to Deakins in person, at Bobby's insistence, then they'd take Bobby home.

One Police Plaza 

Once on the eleventh floor, as luck would have it, the first person they ran into was Mike Logan. "What the hell happened to you?" he asked, shocked at Bobby's appearance.

"I got mugged," Bobby answered sheepishly.

"YOU got mugged?"

Bobby and Alex looked at each other smugly. Logan was so predictable.

"By a gang," Alex explained.

"And yes, I'll be okay," Bobby said, wanting to end the conversation, just waiting to hear Logan's little "heh, hehs."

It wasn't long. "Heh, heh…remind me not to book with your travel agent," he said as he left.

A minute later, they were in Deakins's office.

Taking one look at Bobby he too exclaimed, "What the hell happened to you?"

"I got mugged."

"Mugged?" Bobby was beginning to wish they'd come up with a better story. "Yeah, by some punk gang members."

Deakins let out a low whistle. "Wow, they beat the crap out of you!"

_You have no idea…_

"Are you okay?" Deakins continued.

"Yeah. Doc says I need to be on bed rest for two weeks. Then I should be good to go."

"Did you report it?"

"Huh?"

"Did you report it? The mugging?"

"Uh, yeah. I think so."

"You THINK so?"

"He was unconscious!" Alex jumped in. Deakins turned to stare at her. "He, um…told me."

"Memory loss, too," Bobby added. "But I'm pretty sure I would have reported it."

Deakins turned back to Bobby. Dammit, they were up to something. "Don't suppose you remember where this took place? What city?"

Bobby shook his head. Deakins sighed, then noticed the bruises on Bobby's wrists. They could only be made by one thing. "Alright, you two. I don't know what little game you're playing, and I'm not sure I even want to. But I don't like it one bit when one of my detectives gets the crap beaten out of him and can't come up with a reasonable explanation. I think I deserve that much."

Both Alex and Bobby felt a little guilty. "You probably wouldn't believe it…" Alex started, getting a startled look from Bobby.

"Try me."

It was Bobby's turn to sigh. "Okay. It was this Jack the Ripper thing. We actually—"

"That's enough, Goren! Go home. You're obviously delirious. At least I hope you are. You've got two weeks sick leave. And when you get back I'm going to work your ass off. Alex, take the day and get him settled at home. You're on desk duty, as of tomorrow. Now both of you, leave." He turned, somewhat disappointed that they felt they couldn't confide in him. Turning back, he watched as they slowly started for the elevators, only to be stopped near their desks by that damn Professor Osmet! That crackpot! Where the hell did he come from?

He quickly left his office, coming to a dead stop about ten feet from them all. He couldn't believe what he was hearing.

Osmet was standing between Alex and Bobby, and presented each of them with a book. On the inside was written a little note, saying "To the World's Best Detectives, with grateful appreciation from Professor Osmet." They were new history books, and a particular page had been bookmarked with a blue ribbon.

Bobby had already read it before Alex even got to the page. "Wait, Eames," Bobby said, digging a piece of paper out of his pocket. "Remember this?"

It was the paper Bobby had photocopied from the library. Alex read the highlighted part aloud. "The Jack the Ripper case has never been solved." Alex grinned. "Well it has now!"

"Now," Bobby said, reading from their new books. "… And the Jack the Ripper Case would never have been solved without the help of two unidentified American detectives, a male and female team, practically unheard of at the time." There was more, but they had read the important part.

"Omigod, Bobby!" Alex exclaimed, jumping up to hug him. "We did it Bobby! We changed history!"

"We did!" Bobby agreed, returning her hug.

Professor Osmet had to leave, and again thanked them, telling Bobby how sorry he was that Bobby had gotten hurt.

"No, no!" Bobby protested. "It was worth it, I'll be better soon. It was an incredible journey. Thank YOU for the opportunity."

Deakins suddenly felt dizzy, and headed back to his office to sit down. _Did I_ _just hear what I thought I did? Those history books…Nah, I'm thinking crazy. Like Goren. Couldn't happen in a million years…could it? Nah!_ But over the course of the years, there was a little part of him that would always wonder.

Bobby and Alex were still standing where he'd left them, watching as Professor Osmet disappeared.

"I still can't believe it," Alex said. "We actually changed history. Changed history!"

"You know, Alex," Bobby said, his arms still around her, "in the course of changing that history, we made some of our own. Just like I always knew we would."

_The End_

""

A/N I had to do a little research for this story. There are some actual facts in here. The nine JTR suspects were actually real, as were the names of several of his victims. Whitechapel was actually the site of several of the murders, and there really were about 80,000 prostitutes working in London at the time. Harder to find (facts are always easier) were things like what people wore, what they ate, and what the times were actually like. But I tried. Oh, and as you know, the case really has never been solved.

I wrote this for pure entertainment. It's a fantasy, none of which could really happen (I think). And I know it's a little out there, but I hope you liked it anyway. Let me know what you think.


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